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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24599227">a time to plant, a time to uproot</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/nonagesimus/pseuds/nonagesimus'>nonagesimus</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sinbad: Legend of the Seven Seas (2003)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M, Pining, Yearning</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 09:27:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,731</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24599227</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/nonagesimus/pseuds/nonagesimus</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sinbad learns that his best friend, Proteus, is engaged, he doesn't handle the news particularly well.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Proteus/Sinbad (Sinbad: Legend of the Seven Seas)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>119</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>a time to plant, a time to uproot</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sinbad has been thinking about running away for years. Sailing away, really: finding himself a ship, and a crew, and standing proud on the prow with his hands preferably tangled in rope as he watches the sea slice and churn away underneath him, pulling him to a vague destination called anywhere-but-here.</p><p>These plans are far-away, though: nestled in mist a hundred miles in the distance, barely taking shape through fog and cloud. There’s nothing concrete about them, just as there’s nothing concrete about his and Proteus’s plans to join the navy together one day. They’re all talk, all unformed thought.</p><p>Until one day, late summer, pleasantly lukewarm instead of the choking roasting heat they’ve been enduring for the past few months. Leaves on trees rustle and flutter softly, a whispering hiss in the early morning air. Sinbad normally wouldn’t even be up so early, but Proteus sent a messenger before the sun even rose all the way over the horizon, inviting him to the palace. This is <em>weird</em>, and Sinbad’s nervous: something is clearly not right.</p><p>He stands awkwardly in the royal gardens, waiting for Proteus. In due time the prince arrives: flush-faced, bright-eyed and bright-smiled, dressed all in blue. He grins widely at Sinbad, showing off sharp white incisors. “You’re here! I have so much to tell you.”</p><p>Proteus is so—<em>brilliant</em>. Shining, especially when he’s happy: radiating with quiet joy, like a star. Sinbad’s stomach drops at the sight of him, in both keen fondness and abrupt dread. No, something isn’t right at <em>all</em>.</p><p>He disguises it easily and plants his fists on his hips with what he hopes is a singularly exhausted scowl. “This had better be good.”</p><p>“Yeah, sorry to wake you up so early,” says Proteus sheepishly, “but something’s happened, Sinbad, and I wanted you to be the first to know.”</p><p>“Something’s happened,” Sinbad echoes. All surrounded by olive trees and rose bushes, orchids, chrysanthemums, and jasmine flowers blooming soft-scented, they’re alone in the small grove, and Sinbad feels enclosed in his own little world with the prince: like nothing can touch them here. Or, at least, he fiercely <em>wants</em> to feel that way.</p><p>(He often feels out-of-place in the palace, among grand veined marble, gold, cedar and olive-wood, and azure stone that makes certain elements feel like they were lifted dripping from the sea—a rich place, not something to which a street kid like him is particularly accustomed. But here in the gardens, with Proteus, he feels home. Always.)</p><p>Proteus bursts out, “I’m engaged.”</p><p>Sinbad stares at him as the prince continues, words rolling over words like a collapsing structure of bricks toppling in on itself; Sinbad has never seen Proteus this excited and nervous. “I’ve been writing letters to her for years, but it’s only just now been settled. We received the news late last evening—she’s to arrive tomorrow. <em>Tomorrow</em>, Sinbad. She was appointed the new ambassador from Thrace days ago, and now she’s to be my wife as well. I—well, I hardly know what to think, how to feel—”</p><p><em>Marina</em>. The name reverberates and repeats in Sinbad’s mind. He knows Proteus’s fiancée: he met her once, years ago. But that doesn’t seem to matter now, so much as the boy in front of him matters, the boy he’s about to <em>lose</em>.</p><p>A thousand feelings are churning in him, and he opens his mouth, and the least expected words come tumbling out: “Nothing’s gonna be the same.”</p><p>Proteus blinks. “What do you mean?”</p><p><em>I’ve been able to pretend, for all these years, that you’re mine. And now I can’t anymore</em>. Sinbad bites back these words, hard, and closes his eyes for just a moment as he reforms himself, corrals himself. When he opens them, he’s Sinbad again, loose and uncaring.</p><p>“Just…things are gonna change,” he says as indifferently as he can manage. “You’re gonna be an <em>adult</em>. A married man. No more running around like kids. You sure you can manage?”</p><p>Proteus seems to see through the veil in Sinbad’s words to the tightly-wound ball of hurt that sits like a heavy stone within. He reaches out, rests a hand on Sinbad’s shoulder and smiles at him with all the devotion in the world, a look that makes Sinbad ache hard, that familiar pulse of need that sits in his chest like a second heart.</p><p>“Nothing <em>will</em> be the same,” he affirms. “But…it will, too. You’re always going to be my best friend.”</p><p>“Easy for you to say, you’re all hopped-up and giddy. Let’s see how things look in a few years when your wife is kicking me out of the dining room because I’ve got too much dust on my pants,” Sinbad says scornfully with a roll of his eyes.</p><p>Proteus laughs, loud and joyful. “It’s so funny how you think you’re going to be invited to dinner in the first place,” he says with a merry half-smile once he’s done. “Besides, she’s not going to be my wife for a while yet. As I understand it, she wants a few years to work as an ambassador before our marriage obliges her to retire.”</p><p>That’s the girl Sinbad remembers from years ago: she values duty, but also her freedom. He feels a small but vivid flash of respect and affection for her. Marina won’t be anchored so easily: she loves serving her people, but she also loves the sea.</p><p>“Good for her,” says Sinbad, “I’d do the same thing. Give myself a few years to live large before I get tied down to your sorry, dull ass.”</p><p>“Yes, I imagine those were her thoughts exactly,” Proteus deadpans, but still wearing that smile. “Come on, let me tell you everything about her. We can sit down.”</p><p>Sinbad doesn’t want to sit down, doesn’t have any desire to hear everything about his best friend’s fiancée, the woman whose presence is going to sever Proteus and Sinbad’s connection. He’s entirely filled to the brim with dread: it settles in all his limbs, weighing him like stones, and he wants to cast it off and <em>run</em>. He can joke all he wants, but losing Proteus is a concept that makes him sick to the marrow of his bones.</p><p>But Proteus is lowering himself to the ground, sitting cross-legged and patting the grass beside him with an expectant smile up at Sinbad; the prince is too excited, too starry-eyed, for Sinbad to refuse him. With an annoyed exhale, Sinbad flops down beside his friend, and Proteus talks his ear off for the better part of an hour, Sinbad feeling as though a limb’s being torn off all the while.</p><p> </p><p>Sinbad wanders Syracuse alone for most of the day: the heat returns, and he bakes in it, allows himself to marinate in sweat and in his own disquiet. He stomps around and kicks rocks, resentfully, like a child; certain acquaintances and friends call out to him from time to time, from windows and sitting in dusty doorframes, and he calls back with all the enthusiasm he can muster, which isn’t much (because Sinbad has never been much of an actor), and soon all of Syracuse knows something’s wrong. Sinbad doesn’t care. Sinbad doesn’t care about much of anything right now, except the concept of losing his best friend in the world.</p><p>He doesn’t see Proteus: the prince is busy, fluttering from one meeting to the next. <em>Preparations</em> have to be made, for the arrival of the Thracian lady and her retinue. A luncheon must be set out, and arrangements made for a supper feast to welcome the lady, and diplomats must be herded together to join the welcoming party, and the present ambassadors must be alerted to these ongoing events, and <em>talks</em> must be had, and <em>discussions</em>, and <em>conferences</em> and <em>dialogues</em> and the whole stupid thing exasperates Sinbad, always has. He doesn’t know how Proteus manages it, the endless politicking and delegating, the kowtowing and careful maneuvering to stay in everyone’s good graces, like steering a ship into a harbour where countless invisible rocks lurk just under the surface and you’ve got to avoid them all.</p><p>Sinbad pictures the near future: Marina will arrive and Proteus, if not besotted with her immediately, will certainly enjoy her company. They’re a good match, from what he knows of both of them, both able to navigate the rocky waters of diplomacy with a skill only born nobles possess. They’ll get along like thieves (he snorts quietly to himself—pun not intended). And even if he doesn’t fall for her, Proteus will be hers, because Proteus is about duty and honour above all else: if Syracuse needs him to wed this woman, then he’ll do it, regardless of anything.</p><p>But if he does fall for her—somehow, that will be worse. Proteus, staring after her every move with the stars in his eyes; Proteus, a gaggle of lookalike children swarming around his heels. It will <em>hurt</em>; it hurts now, just imagining it. When Sinbad dreams, this is not what he dreams about. He dreams of himself and Proteus, neither tied down to a girl—sailing the high seas together, respected brothers of Syracuse’s Royal Navy, high on the mast together staring down at the heaving whitecapped seas below them, the horizon in all directions a limitless sweep of lucent blue. Smiles on their faces, heading on to the next adventure. Talking, laughing, serving and fighting together. <em>Together</em>. That’s what he dreams of: not so much the ocean, more… the ocean with Proteus on it.</p><p>But that future isn’t a reality, not anymore. Proteus being engaged means he is firmly tied down to the mainland, to his duty, any dreams of traipsing around with Sinbad now a distant memory.</p><p>No more roping a reluctant Proteus into heists, nearly getting him into a ton of trouble. No more hours upon hours spent sparring with the prince, strolling with him down the street in the lazy afternoon sun, lying in the grass together just talking about everything. Their teenage years are over: Proteus is growing up.</p><p>Maybe Sinbad should do the same.</p><p> </p><p>The sky is unfathomably blue the next day.</p><p>Of course, Sinbad is invited to the official arrival of Marina’s ship. Proteus made sure to afford his friend a good position to watch the arrival: on the very edge of the easternmost dock, where Sinbad has a good view of both the arriving ship and of Proteus and the royal entourage on another dock nearby. Two guards (irritably) escort Sinbad to his spot of privilege, where he can bypass the teeming crowd of gaping onlookers who’ve heard the news of the arrival of their future queen. Despite his position, though, Sinbad is still just one of many civilians. Not as high as the prince or the king.</p><p>Prince Proteus and King Dymas stand proud, straight-backed. They look like peas in a pod; Dymas’ hair hasn’t begun to whiten yet, and with his dark ponytail and sharp cheekbones, he and his son are matching twins. The most major difference is the proliferation of crow’s feet and laugh lines that crinkle, mazelike, across Dymas’s face. The king looks solemn, and Proteus too, most of the time—but when the magnificent ship pulls into harbour, so grand and intricate that it could be none but that of the delegation from Thrace, a smile blooms on Proteus’s face, gorgeous and unmistakable. Sinbad wants to capture that smile and bottle it and keep it as his own forever, but it’s not his. So he clenches his teeth and fists tightly, and simply waits on the edge of the dock, separated from Proteus by about fifty feet of calm water that feels like a thousand miles of sea.</p><p>He thinks he sees Proteus sneak a look at him—oh, nope, Proteus is <em>definitely</em> looking at him, smiling huge and happy. The prince jerks a thumb toward the arriving ship, a <em>Can you believe this? </em>sort of gesture. Sinbad grins back, disguising everything, and offers two thumbs up.</p><p>He’s trying, and for a minute, he thinks he can <em>keep</em> trying. Forever. He can disguise the fierce blaze of what he feels for Proteus—the possessiveness, the need to be together with no one else coming between them, no politics or duty, nothing but the two of them—he can hide all that away, and be glad for his friend, and stay here contentedly without ruining everything. Keep Syracuse his home, and Proteus his best friend, despite all that’s changed. Pretend that nothing is wrong. Stay happy.</p><p>Then the ship is moored and anchored, and the plank lowers, and a few fancy-dressed representatives are stepping off onto the dock and greeting King Dymas with respect, and then—oh. Her.</p><p>
  <em>Her.</em>
</p><p>And Sinbad can’t carry on anymore.</p><p>She looks the same as he remembers her—short-haired, a measured mischief glimmering in her knifelike smile, although her dark eyes are kind and calm. Beautiful. Beyond compare, <em>beautiful</em>. Dressed in flowing blue robes, Marina steps lightly onto the wooden dock with the grace of a dancer and takes Proteus’s hand in her own, and the prince lifts it to his mouth and presses a kiss to it, and their eyes meet—and that’s <em>it</em>. Sinbad can’t look anymore. He can’t, he <em>can’t</em>, and he won’t. An overwhelming feeling expands parasitic in his gut, sickness and anger and an idiotic yearning that he can’t even name, doesn’t <em>want</em> to name.</p><p>They belong to each other now—something about that look they gave one another, it told him everything. There’s no room for him anymore.</p><p> </p><p>For the next while, as he prepares his escape, Sinbad is tense and dark-hearted, awaiting Proteus’s voice exploding from behind: demanding to know what he’s doing, why he’s running, how he could simply abandon his friend and his city.</p><p>Proteus doesn’t come. Proteus is busy at the palace with his duties, with Marina. Sinbad doesn’t know which option could possibly hurt more.</p><p>He gathers his few belongings and ties them together in a makeshift cloth, which he slings over his shoulder. He won’t miss his home: he’s been squatting in alleyways and abandoned buildings and wherever he can find a spot to rest for the past almost-twenty years now, and nowhere has ever felt like home. Nowhere but being with his best friend, and that’s not an option now. But he will miss Syracuse, the sprawling, towering, sparkling city of his childhood. He’ll miss the city with all his heart.</p><p>This feels like growing up, Sinbad thinks after he’s bartered his way onto the first outbound ship heading south. He’s a cabin boy now; he’s been issued a mop and a set of raggedy gray clothes by the humourless first mate, and ordered to start swabbing the instant they set out. Sinbad usually rankles under any sort of authority, unsheathes his claws and starts resisting however he knows how, but this is one exception where he’s happy to have a boss, because it means he gets the chance to leave this place. And this feels like growing up. Sure, he’s been looking after himself for almost his whole life, eking out a living as a street kid. But today, this: this is his childhood coming to an end.</p><p>Hasn’t he been thinking about this for years? Leaving on a ship, sailing the seas, uncovering every culture and custom, and hopefully never returning to the same place twice? And wasn’t Proteus the only thing anchoring him? Holding him back?</p><p>But at night, stuffed into a hammock and swaying alongside a dozen other sweaty stinking men in the dark dampness of the lower cabin, Sinbad can’t get Proteus out of his head. He doesn’t think of the adventures he’s gonna have: images of exotic islands and roiling sea-serpents and beautiful girls don’t fill his mind. It’s just Proteus.</p><p>Proteus, surprised, confused, disappointed to learn that Sinbad has skipped town and disappeared. Proteus, angry at first, but then slowly easing into forgetfulness as he settles into life with Marina, who, as well as his betrothed, might well become his new best friend.</p><p>Proteus, forgetting Sinbad. Leaving their life together behind in the dust of memory, and moving on.</p><p>Sinbad very nearly bolts out of his hammock, pounds up the stairs, throws himself into the Mediterranean and swims wildly back to the Syracusan shore.</p><p>He doesn’t, though. But it’s a near thing.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this was written due to prompt #330 of the Dare to Write challenge: "Peter Pan is not a boy anymore." you can find it here: https://inkstay.tumblr.com/post/143937584209/dare-to-write-challenge</p><p>thanks so much for reading my emo trash!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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